The Flask

Chapter nine.

9

  When Ray woke up he looked around for the woman who was screaming. “What the hell, is there someone following me?” he asked himself aloud. He looked all around.  No one was there. His right leg felt like it was on fire. He looked down and noticed four large cactus spines the size of toothpicks protruding through his denim pants just above the top of his boot. He put his comb between his teeth, bit down on it and pulled the quills out. He yelped, threw them into the sand and looked around again. He was surrounded by large cactus plants. One in particular held his attention: it was a larger plant and it had a square section cut out of its base for some reason.

    Ray got up, walked over to the cactus, and took out his knife. He studied the wound in the plant for a few moments, and then decided to continue doing whatever it was that the apparent previous visitor had been working on. He plunged his knife into the flesh of the tree and began sawing out a section similar to the one that had previously been carved out.  He removed the piece and held it in his hand. As he did so it began to drip liquid onto his leg. He licked at the flesh of the plant, then held it over his mouth and squeezed. He managed to purge a small mouthful of liquid from it, and panted with enthusiasm as it began to quench his thirst. When he could no longer squeeze any juice from the section he rubbed the spent pulp on the back of his neck to sooth his sunburn. The wind evaporated the dampness from his skin and he sighed with relief. Ray decided to spend the day here in this little oasis, rehydrating and treating his weathered skin. Once the sun went down he felt much better. He’d consumed enough cactus juice that he could feel it sloshing around in his belly. He cut out several more pieces, wrapped them in his shirt, threw it over his shoulder and after a few deep breaths decided to pack out and walk through the night.

   The next morning Ray was too tired to continue. As soon as daylight broke he could see a form taking shape in the early light. It was an old compound of some sort; a fence line with a gate post. When he reached it Ray stopped and looked down. The wind had blown the sand around the gate post into the shape of a horse shoe. He studied it for a few minutes, puzzled, and scratched his head, then continued on.  He walked until it got dark, then sat down, used up the rest of his cactus sections, and fell asleep with his back against an old burnt tree trunk.

   His sound sleep was abruptly interrupted several hours later by the sound of men’s voices. He heard them yelling back and forth to each other in separate groups. Ray began yelling to them for help. “Hey, I need help, I’m over here, help me!” he squeaked.

   He heard footsteps in the sandy soil behind him, and spun around just in time to see a pair of ice-blue eyes and a grin behind the butt end of a rifle before it hit him between the eyes.

   The last thing Ray saw before he passed out was a fine spray of blood emerging from the bridge of his nose, and the morning sun reflecting off the corner of a gold star.